Stella's POV
William's expression hardened. "Then we'll have to take more drastic measures."
"Like what?" Adam's voice was dangerously low.
"You may have built your own empire," William replied coldly, "but don't forget where you came from. The Lancaster name opened doors for you, and it can just as easily close them."
Is he serious? Has he seen what Adam has accomplished?
"Is that all?" Adam asked, already turning his wheelchair toward the door. "If your empty threats are finished, I have better things to do."
Thomas stood up, his face red with anger. "This isn't over, Adam! You can't just walk away from family responsibilities!"
"Watch me," Adam answered without looking back.
I hurried to keep pace with Adam as we left the study, feeling the weight of the Lancaster family's collective glare on my back.
If looks could kill, we'd both be dead right now.
Once outside, I gently touched Adam's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," he replied curtly, but I noticed his hands were tightly gripping the wheels of his chair.
"They can't really do anything to you, can they?" I asked, worry creeping into my voice despite my attempt to sound casual.
Adam's expression softened slightly as he looked at me. "You were impressive in there."
Though this wasn't an answer to my question, the unexpected compliment caught me off guard. "I just said what needed to be said."
"You called me 'our Adam,'" he observed, his eyes studying my face with unusual intensity.
I felt my cheeks heat up.
"It was just a figure of speech."
A ghost of a smile played across his lips. "Was it?"
In the dimly lit bedroom, I studied Adam's profile as he browsed emails on his tablet. The blue screen light illuminated his sharp jawline, making him look dangerous and captivating even while at rest.
Damn, even in workaholic mode, he's ridiculously handsome.
I turned to lie on my side, boldly placing my hand on his thigh, feeling the firm muscle beneath my fingertips.
"Is it tiring?" I asked softly.
Adam looked up from his tablet, his brows furrowing slightly. "What?"
"Pretending your legs don't work," I explained, carefully observing his expression. "Is it exhausting?"
The tablet lowered as Adam's attention focused completely on me, those deep green eyes studying me as if I were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
"Stella," his voice unusually gentle, "are you feeling sorry for me?"
I didn't hesitate. "Yes."
His expression changed—a flash of vulnerability quickly appeared and vanished. He set down his tablet, leaned toward me, and captured my lips with an unexpectedly tender kiss that made my heart race. Unlike his usual possessive and demanding ones, this was soft, almost reverent.
My God. Who is this man and what has he done with Adam?
When he pulled back, his expression had softened in that rare way that made him look younger, less burdened. "Don't waste your sympathy," he murmured, his thumb gently tracing my lower lip, sending waves of heat through my body. "Your husband won't be in a wheelchair forever."
I caught his hand, pressing it against my cheek. "That's not what I meant, you idiot." I took a deep breath, trying not to be distracted by his touch. "I'm not sympathizing with you because of the wheelchair. I'm sad that you've had to pretend for so long. That you can't just be your true self."
Because of your mother. Because your father is an asshole. Because your entire family is a toxic garbage dump full of secrets.
Adam's eyes darkened, a shadow of old pain briefly crossing his face. "It was necessary."
"For your mother?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
He just nodded once, his jaw tightening.
"It's still fucking unfair," I whispered, my fingers unconsciously caressing his thigh. "You shouldn't have to sacrifice so much."
Adam's expression changed, his hard exterior melting into something that made my heart skip a beat. "Stella," he said softly, his voice carrying an emotion dangerously close to affection, "you always surprise me."
"How?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Most people would be angry about the lie," he explained, his gaze never leaving mine. "They'd feel betrayed, manipulated."
"Maybe I should be angry," I admitted, "but I'm not. I understand why you did it." I looked up, meeting his intense gaze. "We all have our secrets, Adam. We all do whatever the hell it takes to survive."
My words seemed to touch him deeply. He pulled me closer, wrapping his arm around me so my head rested against his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, oddly comforting.
His hand slid up my back, fingers tangling in my hair. "You're unlike anyone I've ever known," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.
"Is that good or bad?" I asked, trying to ignore how my body was responding to his closeness.
"Good," he answered, his lips brushing my temple.
I wanted to ask more—about his mother, about what happened years ago—but the warmth of his body and the rhythmic caress of his hand on my spine were making me drowsy, despite the heat building inside me.
"Rest," he whispered, his lips grazing my forehead. "It's late."
I mumbled something incoherent, already drifting off, feeling strangely safe in the arms of the most dangerous man I'd ever met.
Adam's POV
I watched as Stella's breathing deepened, her body relaxing against mine. In the moonlight, her face looked softer, her sharp wit and defiant edges smoothed away by sleep.
She knows. Has probably known for some time.
This realization should have triggered alarm. My carefully constructed facade—maintained through years of disciplined deception—had been seen through by this woman who'd been in my life for less than a year.
Yet instead of anger, I felt something unexpected. Relief. As if a weight I'd carried for so long I'd forgotten it existed had suddenly become lighter because someone else knew about it.
"Is pretending your legs don't work exhausting?"
No one had ever asked me that before. Not my father, not Taylor, not even Luke, who knew the full extent of my charade. No one had ever considered what it cost to maintain such an elaborate lie every day.
Except Stella.
I carefully disentangled myself from her, making sure not to wake her. I slipped silently out of bed and walked to the balcony, sliding the door open to step into the cool night air.
"I'm sad that you've had to pretend for so long. That you can't just be your true self."
My phone vibrated, interrupting my thoughts. The screen displayed an international number I immediately recognized. Grace.
"Hello," I answered quietly.
"Adam!" Grace's voice came through, bright and cheerful despite the time difference. "I'm coming back to New York this Friday. Are you free to pick me up from the airport?"
I frowned. It had been nearly two years since Grace's last visit. Given how she'd left, her sudden return was unexpected. "Why?"
A brief pause. "I haven't been back in so long," she said, her voice softening. "I wanted to visit your brother's grave. Could you take me there?"
My grip tightened on the phone at the mention of my brother. "Fine."
"Great!" Her voice brightened immediately. "Then I'll see you Friday! I'll text you my flight details. Thank you for picking me up!"
I didn't say I'd pick her up at the airport, just agreed to take her to my brother's grave. But correcting her now seemed pointless.
"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "It's late there in New York, isn't it? I completely forgot about the time difference. I haven't disturbed your sleep, have I?"
My eyes drifted toward the bedroom where Stella lay, still fast asleep. "No."
"Well, I won't keep you any longer. Good night!"
"Hm." I ended the call, sliding the phone back into my pocket.
I turned back toward the bedroom, pausing at the threshold to look at Stella. She had rolled onto her side, one hand stretched toward where I had been, as if unconsciously searching for me even in sleep.
A feeling tightened in my chest—one I wasn't ready to name but was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
I walked silently back to bed and slid in beside her. She immediately moved closer, her body fitting against mine as if she belonged there.